This Is Between Us
by sometimesmilla
Summary: Caroline finds a letter that Katherine wrote in her death-bed, and personally delivers it.
1. Caroline 0-1

**Caroline 0.1**

* * *

It's easy to find where some things begin: a fire started, a secret told, a book opened to the first page. But I can't understand exactly where I've gone wrong. God, how I want to find that starting point and place a pin on it, a red-flagged pin of blame and reason. Maybe it was during the time he ran Tyler out of town, maybe that's where it started. Or it all began that night Tyler bit me and he saved me. Could it be more recent? Could be because Tyler decided to go New Orleans, leaving me in collage, dumped, alone, and restless.

I ought to clarify I don't always go around having profound wonderings like this. Quite a lot of the time I amuse my brain cells by thinking about which movie star is doing which other movie star (and do they have better sex than us mere mortals?) or whether I can get away with not washing my hair if I'm inventive enough with my up-do (thus securing an extra thirty minutes in bed in the morning). But It's here. The enormous so-this-is-what-you-amount-to day, and I can no longer keep the deep thoughts at bay.

Point is...It's more than fair to say my going to bed with the enemy (literally speaking.) don't do my friends any favours. Totally the reverse. I'm rational enough to calculate that maybe they'll feel betrayed by the fact that I kissed the lips that drained Elena dry. Enjoyed the feel of the very hands that drowned Tyler's mum. I stared into the eyes of the guy who made Stefan into a bloodthirsty hound dog, and I moaned the very name that is to every one of them a curse. And to be honest, I'm not exactly thrilled that he is the big, bad wolf either, but, hey life's not a fairy tale.

I mean, even If I explain that on sight he fulfilled all my expectations and my fantasies and my dreams, and then some. Tall, blond, chiselled – classically handsome – with broad shoulders and a tight butt. The kind of guy that when you see him in the distance you almost hope that, up close, he'll be a bit of a disappointment. Perhaps his eyes will be too close together, or he'll have blackheads nestling on his nose. Because, if he is as hot as his distant silhouette promises, he'll be overwhelming.

Up close, he don't disappoint.

His eyes are sparkling green, dramatically offset by long lashes and perfectly arched eyebrows. Oh, and he got these cherry red juicy lips-you know-the sort even Snow-White would kill for. He is in short an eleven, on a scale of one to ten. But it isn't just his stomach-churning good looks, it is the fact that, by quite some way, he is the most vibrant, alive person I'd ever met. He has a sort of animal energy and a phenomenal curiosity in everything and everyone around him, especially me.

This man is the most attractive man I've ever clapped eyes on, including anyone who's ever appeared on MTV_, _and all of the men in the Levi's adverts throughout my early teens. Which, I suppose, were the only men I was having intimate relationships with pre-vampire. Well, you don't get much opportunity to meet new boys, let alone men, at a small Virginia town like Mystic Falls. And to think this man, this genuine god-like specimen came into this town and choose me, not some other girl, but me. Not Elena, me. ME!

Even if I explain that before him, it was never me. I mean, Stefan seemed to find me as interesting as a boy of five would find Barbie. And quite a lot less appealing too. Damon agreed with him, and decided I was better used and abused. In fact I quickly came to realize that Elena is (_since the tender age of five_) a better proposition than I could ever be. Tragic but true. She's prettier, nicer, cleverer, more interesting and less-interested. Besides she saw Stefan first (_Damon too, apparently_) and said bagsie, and between best friends that is reason enough for me to throw in the towel.

Obviously, there's Tyler.

But I met Tyler in the same way I met most of my teen BFs (_He pushed me in the sandbox.)_ It wasn't love at first sight or anything really corny like that–it was hate at first sight, more like. In time he turned into one of those walking bag of douche boys. Always full of witty one-liners and indecent jokes. Throughout Junior High and later on no one delivered a punch line like Tyler could. We irritated one-another from the word go, and even though we shared friends we kept each-other at arm's length until _vampire_ happened to me, and _werewolf_ happened to him. Then he asked me to be there on the first night he turned. And that was it – we were an item.

I never so much as looked at another man from that moment on. Seriously, he held me captive. I realized that I hadn't simply been a slut (_as I believed and my mum feared_) I just hadn't met the right guy. Simple as that, and as nice and old-fashioned as that. I've loved being faithful to Tyler. It hasn't been a struggle, and sinking into a relationship felt as easy and as enjoyable as eating M&Ms. Tyler and I breezed our way through the first couple of weeks and for quite some months after that. But we haven't been nothing at all (_zilt, nada, zero_.) lately. In fact there hasn't been a great deal of anything from the second that...

I think if I had to pin it, you know-I think it was the night Tyler bit me. Klaus had been the bigger man about it and stepped up. He sort of saved me. He took my face in his hands. Very gently-I do remember that so clearly. He tilted my chin toward him so I could look him on the face. That's when I noticed Klaus might own the most stunning, crystal-green eyes on the entire planet. He hypnotized me with those things. I shudder as I remember the sound of his voice. Kind. Confident. Worried. Afraid. It's the thing I'd been waiting for but didn't know it. I don't mean anything corny like I fell in love or even into a crush or anything like that. It's more a feeling like when I got picked first at gymnastic or I find one of those stupid school candy-grams in my locker. Its knowing someone choose me over everything. He made me feel...Alive. Vital. Relevant.

You know, A part of me is convinced that Klaus isn't necessarily _evil _through and through. He's the opposite, which is much, much worse. Sometimes, what people call villains are just..._misunderstood Heroes_. And in the end of the story these guys tend to get stuff even if they aren't deserving. But no cares, do they? I mean if you look at it properly the hero is an awful person really but he does do the right thing by the girl, so he gets the girl in the end, always. Klaus did, he got me. In the end. I guess...

In the end...

I just walked away from him I did, and I've just kept on walking, going and going without any thought or plan or intent; it's just that the groundswas relatively open. (Thank god he didn't stop me.) At first slowly and wearily, with my head down and my shoulders so slumped that my purse straps kept trying to slip off like the straps of a shell does if the top is too big. Only with a shell top, you only have to brush the straps back up. With the purse-straps you first have to pick and then lift-point is, not a very clasy exit.

Now that's more than two hours later I'm good and lost and absolutely convinced that my shoes are staring to get worn through, I realise I have never felt as much like a bad person as I do as this godforsaken, shity day winds down toward it's untimely end. On the bright side though, the woods come in clenches, it seems to me. For awhile I'm walkin through great old stands of pine, and makes the forest seems almost all right, like the woods in a Disney cartoon.

To be honest I don't register much of it, mostly I stare at the platform shoes I bought from a charity shop that have butterflies on the toes but never quite grips the heel at the back, thereby explaining why they were a knock-down £1.99. As I do I try to think about what I did, and can't. It's so big, too big...I begin to walk faster and faster, waving at the crowds of trees, no longer bothering to skirt clumps of bushes but simply plowing straight through them.

When I begin to run I do it without realizing. I need to forget if only for a moment as my feet speeds past the point of jogging. I pelt up a slope, now running full-out with my hair flying behind me, and my bag slaping my ass. My mind goes completely blank. I rummage around a bit but there is only space, a yawning gap, a brilliant, dazzling, gleaming, glossy whiteness where thoughts, or responsability should be.

I run on and on until eventualy I go down a mild slope, my shoes slipping a little in a carpet of last year's dead leaves, and when I get to the bottom I find a bench. I throw myself on it, not bothering about the bird excrement or chewing gum. I'm breathing fast, feeling a pulse throb between my eyes. I take in a long, deep breath before turning my face up to the dawning sky and squeeze my eyes shut. I wonder how long I can keep my eyes closed and pray that the whole messy business will just vanish.

I stay this way for a long time, shuddering all over and asking God to listen to me. Now, however, praying is hard. Neither of my parents were churchgoers-my Mom is a lapse Catholic, and my Dad, so far as I know, has never had anything to lapse from-and now I discover myself lost and without a clue in which religion to turn to. Besides does god even care for Vampires? Does he reserve his good ear for the living only?

At last I open my eyes as wide as I can and stare up without looking. Five seconds goes by, fifteen seconds, thirty. And then all at once the night sky is there. As usual, the first thing I notice is the moon, but it's a new moon, not invisible exactly, but translucent. I notice the evening star and I make a wish on her. Doing this makes me feel better and worse; better because it feels more like praying than actual praying would have done, worse because it makes me feel better for the first time today.

I listen for voices on the main trail, but now the woods are silent. Well, that isn't true. I can hear the sough of the wind through the big old west-country pines, I can hear the squawk of a jay and the far- off hammering of a woodpecker digging his mid-morning snack out of a hollow tree, Ican hear a couple of freshly arrived mosquitoes (they were buzzing around both ears now) but no human voices. It's as if I'm the only person in all these big woods, in all the world even.

But, I'm not am I? I have friends.

I drag my bag into my lap and put my hand inside to dig out my mobile, and I start to flick through the menu. Who to call? Elena? Bonnie? God no. No. Not until I'm calmer, more certain. Of what? Certain of what to say, of how I feel. I know in my heart of hearts both of them will eventualy find it in them to forgive me. 'Count your blessings.' That's one of mum's sayings, but it don't help much. I mean, the very fact that maybe (just maybe) Elena might even try to understand makes me wanna laugh, or at least it would if I didn't feel so much like crying.

I've never felt less blessed in my life.

Scratch that,I'm tired and so mixed up I'm not even sure what I feel, except I'm half-way wishing I was Katherine. Better to be dead than have to endure the idea of confessing to either of them, better to be dead than to be me. I go so far as to look for the shiny leaves that means poison ivy, poison oak, or poison sumac, but don't see any. (Thank God for no-small favors.) Mum had shown me pictures of those and taught me to identify them two years ago, when life had been normal and simpler.

Oh god. What was I thinking?

What will they think? What will they say?

'You'll loose them,' a voice in my head whisperes-a terrible cold voice.

I feel panic trying to grab me again- it is speeding my heartbeat, drying out my mouth, and tears start to prickle the corners of my eyes. I blink them back savagely. If I start to cry, I wouldn't be able to tell myself I aen't effected by him. If I start to cry, it means that I really do beliave they'll hate me. And I try, I do try my darn hardest not to but I just can't be able to help a wet croaky whimpering sound I put my face in my hands and cry. I cry hard for maybe five minutes, or maybe for much longer than I want to admit, before all that's left is me, myself and I all criedout.

"It'll be alright," I say outloud in a desperate, whispery voice that breaks into complete silence. "It's alright, Call. It's okay"

"It's okay," Irepeatto myself again,lickingmy upper lip and tasting damp salt. "It's okay, It's okay." Iecho over and over, but it's 15 minutes before Ireason withmyself that the healthy thing is to phone a friend (or use my other life-line) and head back into town for a chat with Matt. We could sit on the pavement outside The Grills and drink tequila, but he got kidnapped and burried alive today so I don't think he'll be up for a spur-of-the moment night out.

Who else can I call? Well, there's always Stefan, I suppose. He is understanding, and If he can see the best in Katherine freaking Pierce after everything she's done, he can see it in anyone, even me, right? I'm clutching at straws, maybe, but on a day when you do such a big awfull, stupid thing, it seems like it's the only option you got. Still I stare at my phone, pretrified and wiping my swollen eyes with my arm.

_Go on, go on, don't be a chickenguts!_

I push the button and only after two rings, like a miracle my head fills with the sound of Stefan Salvatore's voice. "Caroline, Where have you been?"

I consider talking about the weather for the sake of small talk, I even consider lying, and lastly I do consider telling him that I'm sitting out here in the ever darkening, drippy woods, lost and alone because I've been a bad girl, but I realize it's pointless. "I uh...umm, are you busy?" My voice trembles toward tears. I stop, gulp them back, and start again. "Like now?"

"Well, umm, Katherine she's-" Stefan begins, I detect something like sadness, or at least regret, in his voice. Behind him I hear Damon pep-up, moaning that I've interrupted their drinking and brotherly bonding over Katherine's death. "We're drinking." Stefan finishes quietly irritated.

"Okay then," I splutter, just about resisting the urge to scream or cry or both. I settle for wishing for Damon Salvatore to trip and drop on a pointy stick.

We both fall silent. I fixate on four bare trees, standing like orphaned table legs. I know those trees from childhood—I looked away from them, feeling ashamed. I study the park bench instead, the graffiti on it reads _Andy Luvs Angie 4 Ever. _Will they? For ever? It seems such a long time. The time I have left is for ever. _He lives4 Ever.I'll never have to face him 4 Ever. _

Stefan finaly interrupts my musings and asks quietly, "Come over. Everyone is here."

I hang up.

The world is still turning, time ticks away, all life is happening right now, as it did yesterday, and as it will tomorrow. Everything going on as it went on before. No one knowing that my life has changed, irredeemably; I want to look back on 'it' no more than I want to go back to being that human-girl whose biggest concern was spreading P_erez-__H__ilton's _latest gossip_, __a_nd knowing how much Marilyn Monroe's blouse was sold for at Sotheby's. (£7,150 if you're interested.)

I suppose I should be feeling dirty, even feel violated because I'd let that horrible person inside me, but I'm not. No, in fact, I think I'm changed. I'm not sure if it's in a bad way, or good way...or anything yet. I'm confused about it and I wish I could just be me again. Quirky, funny, happy-go-lucky, but I can't get over what I did. I just won't let it go. I can't chalk him up to experience or carve a notch in my bedpost and move on, I'll never be able to do that. Never.

Wind snakes its way into my coat and licks my back, reminding me that he destroyed everything short of my jeans, and jacket, but at this point I'm way too emotionally drained for anything much like giving him another thought. To be honest I ean't even sure what to do with myself, but my feet decides for me, and I get moving again, pulling my coat an inch further around me as I head in the general direction of the Salvaore bourding house.

_Time to go face the music._


	2. Caroline 0-2

**Caroline 0.2**

* * *

"What are you doing here, love?"

All of my imagined warrior_—_princess_—_bravado fades when the devil himself walks through the door in a tasteful cranberry coloured short-sleeved T-shirt and some battered, low-slung jeans that threatens to slip off_—__that is part of the allure____—_with no socks or shoes. His bare feet are large, neat and tanned and his nails are smooth and shaped. His steps long and heavy. I'm not normally a feet sort of girl. I couldn't even tell you what Tyler's feet look like because I avoided them as much as humanly possible, but I feel every footfall inside my body. Molten images flare and ricochet: Klaus, his shirt off, lifting me up against the tree...

He arches his eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before him, and I want so badly to be forthcoming but my throat tightens and chokes my words_—_he's got these eyes, you see, green, sparkling, soulslicing eyes. He lashes them on me and with one single glance he strips me naked. I honestly feel my clothes come away at the seams and land in a heap at my feet. The sensation is so real that I look down just to check.

"What are you doing here?" He repeats the question; his tone is suspicious and cool.

I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ears as I stare up at him not unlike a rabbit caught in headlights. _—__What's wrong? Why am I so nervous?____—__Okay, _maybe the third Red Bull was a mistake. I should've munched some actual food before coming. But I didn't. Too nervous. So now, my stomach is liquid snakes and spinning nails. And besides right before_—__you know__—_ happened he promised stay out of my radar and not go near Mystic Falls. Ever. But one little tiny problem, we didn't make clear on details; Does that verbal retraining order go both ways? And, more importantly are we going to talk about_—__you know__—_ or pretend that it didn't happen? _Or_, maybe I'm afraid it's going to happen again. O_r __am I __worried it isn't?_

_Stop being stupid. Calm down._

My brain stutters back into gear. "Don't shoot the messenger." I take a deep panicky breath. Let it out slow and steady. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll leave-" Feeling overexposed like some circus act, I manage to paste on one of my defensive sneer as I begin to edge out of the door. While my reply is absolutely accurate I don't think it got to the heart of what he is trying to establish.

"Message for who?" He doesn't sound rude but he doesn't sound charmed either. He sounds wary.

I need to get myself together enough to make sure Klaus understands I'm not here to chat or make friends—no matter how pretty he is looking! I don't have enough energy in me today to resist his advances so I blurt out. "Your brother," I try a smile and reassure us both, mainly me. I want to summon my most megawatt, Miss Mystic falls smile_—_the one I use to at snoby barmen when I'm waiting to get served, but I don't manage more than a lopsided, self-conscious grin."I'm not here for you or anything like that."

"You've driven all this way to see Elijah?" He asks. "_—_barelydays after we had the best sex of our lives?"

I'm at a total loss as to how to answer this, the simplest of questions. _Well,_ not that simplest...I don't know what to say or do. I am utterly without common sense or even a simple grasp at good manners. For a moment I probably couldn't even remember my name if he asked for it. My mind is a spongy black hole_—__OMG_s_ay something, Forbes. Say anything—_And just when I'm about to think of what I _should __say _my mouth goes into whacked overdrive like I'm possessed.

"—well, I'm not saying I didn't like what we did because I did. A bit. You're great at sex." I garble, then instantaneously I'm so horrified at my word vomit I scramble to recover. Unfortunately, thanks to my breakfast of _stupid_, no one can help me now.

"—But it's not like I have a crush on you and I'm some sort of mad stalker. I don't want you to worry about that. You're totally safe. I've never stalked anyone in my life. Well, who does? Well, some people do, I know that, but I'm not one of them. I know you stalk me and all, I don't mind being the stalkeed. It's sort of flattering. _Still,_ even so, don't you think your faaaar too old to be doing stuff like that. Not that you look old or anything—" A pause for big fat deep breath.

"—Actually no, I lie I totally facebook-stalk, but so what? Everyone does _that_. Don't you? Wait, are you even on facebook?"

And with that my brain finally arrives to shut my mouth down, for which Klaus is probably offering up prayers of thanks to all existing gods—_You could of blabbed about__anything__ but __go come out with __all that?__Y__ou psycho! __—_I feel like I'm about to go into my shake and quake and pretend—dead—safe—mode. I can't believe I'm live in a scene copyrighted straight from my nightmares. I steel myself to look at him. He's grinning. My pathetic verbal incompetence has amused him, at least.

"You've broken our agreement," His eyes are 50 shades darker than before, "I expect you to have sex with me by way of recompense, for that"

"Really?" I gasp, part horrified, part slightly delighted. Certainly more delighted than is respectable. I can tell because my palms start to moisten at the idea; and _erm_, so do other parts of my body.

He now gives out a hearty laugh. "No not really, you silly minx, what sort of place do you think I run here?"

I don't know what to say next cause I'm afraid I might word vomit again. I'm too busy holding my breath, so he continues. "Come on,"

He holds out his elbow for me in that way gentleman did for ladies way back when. His gesture is sweet. There is no doubt as to _what_ happened between us, and what_ is_ now going on, but it's pleasantly clear that he's assigned it to mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. We're now just passing acquaintances or something blasé like that. It's good, we're sticking to the agreement_—__sort of._

The moment I place my hand on bare arm a bolt of lightning slices through my body, deep frying every single nerve ending. We lock eyes and—N_ope_, it definitely happened. I tried it, and now I got a taste for it, kinda am acting a bit like an addict in fact. My body is having withdrawals, it craving this man, desperately, and he wants me just as much now as he wanted me before, maybe more...

_Say something, anything!_

"My prince."

_Except that._

Klaus gaze lights on me, and it stuns me stupid. He's in the middle of a total—entire face involved—eyes crinkling—happy grin. One minute he is grinning and happy at me sideways, and the next he sort of like gallops before me, and does a curtsy just like posh English people do for their little old Queen, "Glad to oblige, my queen."

In the name of harmless playful banter I feign a pout. "So you're my son?"

His expression shifts from feigned embarrassment to shock to disbelief, as if trying to understand what I've just accused him of. "Don't be darft," his voice comes out almost boyish, and I have to pinch my lips to keep from breaking into a fit of giggles.

"I am the King! And this—" He throws his arms up wide just like the Jesus Statue in Rio. "—This, princess, is my castle!" He says that with such exaggerated pride I can't help but let loose my giggles, and like a little girl I clamp my hand to my mouth to stifle it.

"Wait-" I announce this bratty-ly like my 5 years old self did every year that Santa Claus got my Xmas present wrong. "-Am I denoted to Princess now?"

He seems to be consider my question and time is stretched taut as a wire between us. I watch the smile on his face, in his eyes, slowly vanish, until all he is doing is staring at me so hard that my breathing stops, and all harmless, playfulness drops dead like a shot duck. But I don't take my gaze away. I hold his, in a silent war of who—can—look—longest. Finally, He's launches into a thick breathy English accent, "If you'll have me love, you can be my Queen."

I feel a strange flutter at the base of my throat and my entire chest swarms with an uncontrollable butterfly attack. Butterfly riot. Butterfly massacre. The terrible evil butterflies want to eat me alive from the inside out. My chest tightens, twisting as if it's imploded. I work to swallow, because I'm suddenly afraid rainbow-winged insects are about to shoot out of my mouth and hit him in the nose. This is no good because now I'm getting asphyxiated by butterflies, and I'm getting hit with a major wave of dizziness. He smiles ever so charmingly as his eyes scan my whole face, oblivious to the fact that I'm seriously at risk of an old-style faint—_N____o, worse__—_I think I might puke butterflies.

_Wouldn't that be epic?_

I let my bag slip through my fingers to tonk on the floor, and the contents creates a junk and paper wasteland. Make-up containers, letter and my precious iPhone have been ejected like bullets. Coins also hit marble and roll merrily away. I yelp in horror, and as he bends to scoop up a few of my things, I'm completely aware that he has open access to the letter I'm here to deliver. This makes me feel very panicked, and annoyed at myself for losing control of my stuff. And of myself, I would never lose control, but today is an _off_day. I dive for the letter in the exact moment that he does. When we both reach it his hand brushes up against mine, directly flesh on flesh, and I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I hastily withdraw my hand. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. Panicked I lunge about for my bottle of water which I plan to throw over myself.

"It's hot in New Orleans," I comment pathetically.

Klaus holds my gaze and It's not lost on me that my breathing sounds embarrassingly erratic next to his very calm and steady intakes of breaths. "Isn't it," he murmurs. I know, know, know that he's a practised seducer. He is sort of Don Juan, Casanova and James Bond all at once. Of course, in the past he must have looked at hundreds, maybe thousands, of women in exactly the same way as he's looking at me now. And I know, know, know I should not be fooled, or charmed...and should treat him like he is the poster boy for STDs.

"Is that the Mickelson you're here for?" He jerks his head toward the general direction of his brother before flashing me his famous evil grin. I quickly glance towards a suited and booted man, no taller than 6' 1½, definitely, lean and athletic with a kind mien about him I can't help but think is a bit sexy. Remarkably he remains oblivious to our presence, and keeps on reading a newspaper with his back towards us

"Yup. Think so." I bob my head far too quickly for me not to resemble the stupid nodding dog I have in my car.

"Are you sure?" he asks with another flirty, bold, irresistible smile. He says that with heavy implications and a hint of challenge, and his words slosh my common sense clean away. For some reason, I'm totally frozen to the spot, and self-combusting under his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought, and it causes me to flashback to us in the woods. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my own stupid thoughts...I want to scream.

I need something to occupy my hands, and my _stupid _attention so I hastily return to collecting any stray belongings. I scoop up my phone and the Sunshine Glow Mineral Powder. This item has exploded into beige dust-bombs a few times in my bag. I'm happy to find it's intact and not all over the nice stone floor. I pick up the blush compact next-It's my favourite because it has the mirror and the freshening pink tones my grey-coloured cheeks nicely. I shove the items into my bag, feeling slightly comforted by their presence. I'm not all that vain or anything; it's just that without these products I look like the walking dead.

Once I'm sure my expression is_—__What you call it? __—_Nonchalant, I force myself to turn and look at my helper who has gathered almost all of my coins. My heart ramps into some sort of a private hailstorm, and it's because I'm fileing one more sexy thing about him beyond his hypnotic green eyes and rock star fashion sense. His hair is still shower damp. It's made up of little inky-golden curls—an amazing amount of them. As if sensing my staring with a lightning quick speed he glances up at me, and winks as though he doesn't notice, or is bothered by the fact that I'm practically dribbling.

I want to smile back at him. It takes every ounce of my strength to tamp that urge away and revert from stare. As I regard the floor again I get this weird feeling, almost as if I'm forgetting something important. I look into my bag, relaxing a little when I realize I'm only missing my channel gloss and purse—which he's got in his hand and is filling with my spilled money. At a loss, I look about myself and notice lip gloss making a bid for freedom. Just as I make pursuit on my hands and knees I run into a pair of very expensive looking black oxfords draped in tailored slacks. I wait a beat for the man to move out of my way and when he doesn't I arch my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise.

_Wow—holly cow!_

I realise it's kinda slutty to think of Elijah—_er_, Klaus's brother—like I think of any hot guy, but hell he _is __so_ completely edible. _You know_—If you go in for the whole Godfather—come WallStreet— come Millionaire Tycoon—look. He is something like one of those pre-raphaelite paintings; perfect to minute detail in his exceptionally tailored, very sharp three-piece, granite coloured suit, and whiter than white shirt. He sinks into an elegant crouch directly in front of me to pick up my fugitive channel gloss. I'm hit with a wave of very, very expensive smelling aftershave, and far more masculinity at eye-level than I can ever get used to.

"Miss Forbes is it?" He asks.

"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounds more confident.

"We've never formally met." He extends a long-fingered hand to me, exposing onyx cuff links and a very exclusive-looking watch."I'm Elijah."

"Um. It's nice to meet you," I mutter. Elijah got a bone structure that would make a sculptor weep with joy, and deep pools of liquid chocolate eyes that reminds you of that predatory hunger you see in the eyes of Tygers held in cages. He isn't just handsome, he is…_enthralling_. The kind of guy that can make a women want to rip his shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with their inhibitions. I stare at him in his civilized, urbane, outrageously sharp suit, and I can't help but think of the raw, primal, sheet-clawing sex he and Katherine must of had. In second thoughts, _nope_-not a good idea to do that, and not to mention how very unlady like of me to think these naughty things about him when we've only just met.

"Elena speaks very highly of you." He says, and I smirk. She spoke so very highly of him too, much to both little and big Salvatore's annoyance. In fact, and no offence to Elena's sensibilities, if she had gotten wind of his relations to Katherine she would of tried to tap his ass too. Call it a force of doppelgänger habit or something.

With a shaky inhalation I placed my hand in his and we shake. Then just as he lets me take back my hand he locks eyes with his brother whose off behind me to my left, and for a split second I think I see the ghost of a smile in his lips, but I'm not sure. He turns back to me far too quickly, and his eyes go sharp and assessing, they bore into my forehead like a drill, but his features otherwise are schooled into impassivity.

"What brings you to New Orleans?" His voice is warm, kinda amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassiveness. To me he seems mildly interested, but above all, polite.

It takes a moment for me to find my voice. "You do." My lips get dry, so I lick them before adding. "I got a letter that is meant for you."

"I see," he says simply. "Would you like to discuss this letter somewhere more private?" He then suddenly stands up with economical grace. Reacting purely on instinct, I shift backward and sprawl flat on my ass. My elbows throbs from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely register the pain. I just take a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel like a two-year old, but I'm sure if I close my eyes real tight then I'm not really here. A second down. Only forever to go.

"Are you all right?" Klaus asks too close to my ears for comfort, with a rasp that suddenly makes blood pound in my ears, as my heartbeat spikes, and my stomach flips. It brings sex to mind. The extraordinary sex we had in the woods. It forces me to remember_his_ weight on my legs, _his_ warm breath on my shoulder...

"Miss Forbes?" Elijah's voice is what chain pulls me back to earth. I look up at the eldest Original, and my cheeks catch fire— it's all so very humiliating to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful man I've ever met.

"Fine," I mumble, "I'm fine. Just lost my balance."

My pulse leaps when a grip tightens on my shoulders. Again Klause's touch sends a burning icey shiver up my arm that raises the hairs on my nape. He doesn't move nor does he let go, and I inhale. _Oh boy_, he smells sinfully good. No aftershave, just the sort of man-stink that makes a girl's knicker cart wheel. Without warning he pulls me up with him. A trickle of sweat drips between my shoulders and my knees start this embarrassing quaking thing. I feel like squirming with a needy, achy…discomfort.

_Honestly, I don't understand this reaction._

It's all suddenly too much, and he's just too darn close to me. I never let anyone enter my bubble, but this guy has almost popped it. Destroyed it. He's touched all of my stuff, is touching me now and he smells so_—__Time to end this, right now!__—_Without another thought I pivot to face him which turns out to be a big fat mistake because I end up nose to nose with him. He holds my gaze without so much as a blink as he stares me deeply in the eyes for several endless seconds, the way a starving pit bull looks at raw meat. My eyes move over his face; it's so close to mine, blurring close; he hasn't shaved today, his stubble is dark and bronzed at the tips.

_Oh boy_, I see him, I definitely see him cast a look at my lips. My heartbeat exaggerates to a 100 miles-an-hour and my lips parts to accommodate faster breaths_—_this is it, my tipping point. The moment I kissed him back in Mystic Falls it felt too good to stop, it's the only reason I ended-up screaming his name when I was cuming for him. _Boy oh boy_, I'm thinking about kissing him, and if he wants me to. I think he might...

I mentally back slap myself out of it. It's stupid. I'm stupid. I've never been so—I try to move backward a smidgen because I feel like I'm about do something stupid.

"May I have my bag, please?" I set my jaw. My voice is a little trembly; I can't help it. He takes the smallest step away from me, and offers it back to me without a word. I make big effort to retrieve it without touching him, but when our fingers briefly touch, an electrical impulse riots up and down my spine. This time my warrior_—_princess_—_bravado comes to the rescue and has me turning to face Elijah without so much as a flinch. Elijah's got a glint in his dark eyes_—_The fact that he's been watching us hits and makes me feel instant, hairy shame, but I manage to put my best possible face on it.

"So? What was you saying about somewhere more private?"

* * *

Their house looks otherworldly – _unreal_ – and I feel like I'm on a giant film set. Everything is stone – ceiling, floors, and walls except in the coridor where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. I can't help but stop and stare at them. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs.

Displayed together, they are breathtaking, but my awareness of Klaus next to me prickles across my skin, and it's totally distracting me. He is a potent force in such a small enclosure, radiating a palpable magnetism that has me shifting restlessly on my feet. As we stand together, I can't help peeking up at him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile shyly, and his lips twitch.

"A local artist," says Klaus as our eyes latch and holds.

"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, taken in equally by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, love" he replies, his voice ever so soft, and we start another staring competition. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising, or maybe it's just me. He adds in deeper tone than before,"_—_lovely and raising the ordinary to extraordinary." I can't help but feel that he is talking about something else, and surprisingly at first I'm absolutely mystified as to what it is. Then it hits me- _Me?_ Despite myself I go tomato from my head to my typie toes.

Meanwhile Elijah says nothing as he stands a couple of feet away, leaning a shoulder on the frame of a closed door _—_waiting patiently. I become increasingly more embarrassed and flustered at the realisation that he is baring witness to every passing second of our little exchanges. I pluck up the courage to look at him squarely on, he's watching me, one hand deep in his pocket and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.

"Do you mind my brother's presence?" Elijah asks. I flush brighter_—__Is he teasing me?_ I hope not. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. "I'm a very private person, Miss Forbes. I go a long way to protect my privacy. But I don't mind family knowing my business."

"but I _do_," I switch to my bitchy the cheerleader tone. This is the one that always pisses off my mom. To be sure he's not missing my insult, I also cross my arms and speak very slowly like. "_—_this is between us."

"I thought you might say that," His tone is stern, authoritative. I raise a perfectly plucked brow at him, and his mouth quirks, and he stares appraisingly at me. My cheeks go aflame, and I'm beside myself in embarrassment, but I make a point of sticking my nose up in the air. I square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and less little girl like.

"Shaw we?" And it sounds like a challenge or a lover's request, I'm not sure which. I frown, but he smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I bite my bottom lip as I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear. _Wow,_ this man is no Salvatore–I admit it! Katherine totally outdone herself with this one. There's absolutely no element of a boy in this guy. He is the sort who oozes that ephemeral alpha male quality that only one person in ten million is lucky enough to be born with. He is one hundred per cent the real deal.

Turning with lithe athletic grace to the door Elijah opens it wide for me. Before I cross the threshold I give Klaus a fugitive look over my shoulder. He inhales sharply, and there is a minute, imperceptible flex in his facial muscles, a twitching raise of an eyebrow, a slight downturn of the mouth_—__maybe_, a jealous gleam in his eyes. He is _so_ not pleased I want to be alone with his brother. Feeling totally spurred on by the thought I fire out my dismiss-the-dumbass blinks as fast as I can. He starts growling at me.

_I'm calling it!_

_One point for me._


End file.
